I have known about you, baby, for about two weeks now. Sometimes, I can't quite believe you're real, and if you are, I worry that you'll disappear. It's hard to wrap my head around all the ways my life is changing.
We told our parents last weekend and they were all so happy. Zana cried, which made Brandon cry, which made me cry. I think Zana might have given up hope that you would ever come along.
It's hard to go on as if nothing has changed, when everything has changed. I don't know when I'll tell people at work, but I've already started playing the scenarios of how it might happen over and over in my head.
I thought I would be much more afraid than I am. Maybe it just hasn't sunk in yet.
Sometimes I think I can feel you. Not you, exactly, but the changes you're causing in me. It reminds me that you're real. You're the size of a blueberry, but next week when I go to the doctor, I might be able to see your heart beat. That seems pretty miraculous to me.
I think of you often, though mostly in an abstract sense. Nine months seems like a really long time, but I know it will have seemed to fly by the time it's over.
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